


What's Left Unsaid

by Snowmanmelting



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dysfunctional Family, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Elsa-centric (Disney), Everyone Has Issues, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Iduna and Agnarr are ooff, Or more like a realistic ending, They both need a very big apapacho, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, When I say Angst and issues I mean angst and issues in capital letters, You can read it in Spanish in FFN too!, set in argentina, snow sisters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24016618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowmanmelting/pseuds/Snowmanmelting
Summary: After their parents' sudden death, Elsa's life went through a lot of changes. Like getting to live again with her little sister, Anna, or processing the fact that she wouldn't need the cold to protect her from the flames anymore.(Or: just a gal writing a tale about how do we cope with the fact that, sometimes, the people that "loves" us, can hurt us too.)
Relationships: Agnarr/Iduna (Disney), Anna & Elsa (Disney), Gerda/Kai (Disney: Frozen)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	1. Principles

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Lo que queda por decir](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/695080) by Snowmanmelting. 



> First Frozen fanfic! I posted it a while a ago and now I'm reposting it due to some major changes. 
> 
> Just so you know, this story will deal with serious, sensitive topics. I'll add content warnings when necessary, but just to give you a heads up.

They had died on a Friday night, yet Saturday dared to be a sunny day.

In movies, death is always dramatic, shocking, agonizing. The world stops for those who cry through blacks veils, with the rain in the background serving an absurd, cliche metaphor. And without any previous ideas, as it was common to exclude children from family tragedies, Elsa thought there would be some similarities.

However, the second hand of the clock didn't stop, the pop song on the radio didn't turn into a melancholic piano, nor gray clouds took over the sky. Birds kept singing over the backyard tree, the neighbor's dog barked at what sounded like a cat. Everything continued as it was minutes before the phone call. The only thing that changed was Elsa's personal, small, and immediate reality. 

From one second to another, cold entered her body. It was slow and subtle, the way it froze her lungs and permeated the bones with every breath. It went deeper and deeper until her muscles trembled, the tip of her nose ached and her tears turned into frost. There was no notion of time or balance, and even boiling water felt like a glacier on her back.

An hour later, the world was exactly as she left it. With the difference of a coffee left forgotten, a ballad playing in the background, and a phone that kept ringing.

It seemed like a distant memory, a moment lost in time among others, but it actually happened this very morning. Elsa found it hard to place herself in time when cold settled in her body this way. She had no idea what she was doing anymore, just that she was _doing things_. Working on autopilot, being whoever was needed at the time. Whether it was a document provider, a shoulder to cry on, a witness in the identification process at the morgue, or just someone sitting at hospital stairs. 

She needed air and _daily life_. The bustle of the avenue, conversations that ranged from people complaining about traffic to gossips about someone she'll never meet. The evening sun illuminating the butterflies that perched on some nearby flowers. The constant city noises. _The normal._

When Elsa crossed the entrance, it was easy to believe this was some illusion that would disappear as soon as she felt her fingertips again.

The constant buzzing of the fluorescent lights amidst the morgue's silence brought her back to reality.

Her parents were dead. _They weren't coming back_. 

The cold had yet to leave Elsa's bones. 

A few meters away, some kids played plastic dinosaurs over the steps, detached from the reality of the hospital behind them. Someone who seemed to be their mother sat next to them, seeing and warning them if they got too far. Elsa remembered those weekends of family visits and evenings in the park. Anna always brought her dolls and they would wander around, looking for leaves and sticks to make rudimentary little houses for them.

Once, they got so far away they ended up by the pond, looking at a family of ducks that went out to ask for food and then returned to their small island. Her mother didn't find it cute or amusing. Neither did Elsa because, since Anna was five, it was up to her to be the most responsible of the two.

Suddenly, death made sense. 

She wanted to cry tears of frost again. Perhaps with sadness, perhaps with some anger.

 _Why cry, though?_ Under what specific reason? That was the question. The motive, the _real_ motive. 

Grief that they wouldn’t be around anymore? That she’ll have to come home to an empty house and end up bawling in the middle of the living room? Yes, grief, that is. For the most part, she supposed. Because she loved them and they loved her back and always tried to do what they thought was best. That was how the phrasing usually went, at least. Both ways. You care. I care. We do the right thing. Everything is okay as it is. No complaints allowed.

No complaints, no, none at all. 

But then what about the anger? What about the pain and the anger and the guilt at the smallest of the sparks of joy at the idea of freedom and _the confusion_ because this is not what closure should feel like _at all_ , even if someone had to die in the process but it didn’t really _feel_ like it so how—

How was _this_ closure? 

How this was _anything but,_ at the same time?

The easy way, it was the easiest way out.

This wasn’t the best time to analyze these things —it never was— as she was sure even the mere thought of it was disrespectful. And Elsa shouldn't even _feel_ anything remotely similar in its structure. Better to conceal it, if she ever did, pretend it didn't exist for the sake of the world around her. 

_If it’s not there, then it’s not real._

Was there any proof? No, there wasn't. Therefore nothing is real, because Elsa took pride in her ability to hide certain things. She still did and wasn't about to stop it now.

So she stood there with her chin on her knees. In her immediate, personal tiny world. Where everything is fine, separations don't hurt, sacrifices don't exist, and she is a beautiful, happy puppet living a beautiful, happy life in her paper mache stage.

Bad habits die hard. Especially when you're not putting in any effort.

She stayed like that, for a while. Listening to casual conversations of those who came and went, watching carelessness and innocence wander around with cotton shoulders between laughter and dinosaurs with airplane growls. Watching those who had the opportunities Elsa had to disassociate herself from. 

Somehow, she could make out the footsteps, growing stronger as they approached. They were fearful and insecure, and for a moment she wondered if it wasn't someone on the run.

Elsa knew who it was when they took a seat in the same cautious way. Their mere presence was enough. The feeling was... strange, but certain. Just like when you are alone at night and you know someone is right behind you. Turning around, then, means facing a catastrophic reality, an imaginative mind, or intangible memories.

"Hey."

Elsa turned her head, as there were no tragic events behind her this time, but quite the opposite. Anna was sitting there, right next to her. 

Almost four years had passed.

The morgue wasn't the most ideal form of reunion, to tell the truth. And a part of her wished that there never had to be one. That they had received the news together, that Elsa could feel the cold on her fingertips and her tears had been shared, instead of melted frost. Yet seeing her younger sister laugh with the cotton shoulders Elsa couldn't keep, in all those occasional meetings over the years, was worth it. Anna was happy for both of them, and that for Elsa for was enough.

However, this wasn’t the time to give in to melancholy, to apologize for past attitudes, or to offer explanations. It was about in the here and now, for the immediate need to find comfort.

Elsa saw Anna's lips tremble. She seemed to be looking for the right words while the sun made confusion, uncertainty, and anguish dance on the reflection of her green eyes. So as soon as she made the gesture of reaching out, her sister leaned down with the full force of body action and a fresh wave of tears.

It was a comforting warmth, the kind that brings you back to reality little by little. That gives time to breathe and to adapt to feeling _sensations_ again, and that was so contrasting with the burning, scorching fire. It felt like hot chocolate in winter or curling up under the covers. Soft, gentle, restorative.

She hugged her tightly by the shoulders, resting her chin against the top of her sister's copper hair, and closing her eyes to the point that she saw colored spots, so as not to take the protagonism out of Anna's tears.

"I'm sorry," Elsa whispered, almost not finding her voice. "I'm so sorry, Anna."

 _I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry for_ our _loss._

She was sorry with all the honesty in the world and, at the same time, she wasn’t. Because of the guilt at the smallest spark of joy on the hidden parts of her soul. The parts she had no proof of and, therefore, didn’t exist. She had to be the pretty but sad little puppet with her now sad little puppet life in her paper mache stage.

This was the best outcome of it all, despite what everyone might say.

Because their parents were dead.

It was better that way. 


	2. Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOFF, I'm finally done with this one. I have like 10 different drafts. But I'd rather publish something that's short but I'm satisfied with, than something long that makes me cringe. Quality over quantity and all that.
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this!

"Ok, that one _is_ Orion's Belt, the other one is Sirius, I know there's a Bellatrix somewhere, and… that's all I remember from what little can be seen."

Maybe it was the world insisting on its irony, pure cynicism, or Elsa trying to find a reason for her need to emphasize such contrast, but the night ended up being just like the day: nice weather, clear sky, starry night.

The perfect excuse to have dinner in the backyard, at their aunt and uncle's house. The new one, that Elsa just got to see a few hours ago. And to try to distinguish the stars amid light pollution, in between bites of a delivery pizza way too greasy to be this tasty.

"That's all? Really?" Anna asked, raising an eyebrow. "But you were the one who made a super formal request so we could put up the stars in our room!"

"It was the only way they'll let us use a ladder." As a kid, Anna turned into a little hurricane whenever she got excited about something. Which often meant acting first and thinking later. Elsa was always the cautious one. The one who was afraid of breaking the rules and remembered them out loud every time they did something they shouldn't. The one that covered the tracks of their mischief and took responsibility for both of them. Ergo, the one their parents trusted to not end up in the hospital. "And for the record, I _wanted_ to follow the constellation guide from the box, but _someone_ started sticking them up at random."

Anna hit her with the elbow with a "Hey!" and pretended offense. Barely. As if she was being overconfident. Or maybe it was just exhaustion making itself present in every way possible.

"It was nicer that way, admit it."

Truth to be told, Elsa had no idea how these things worked. What was the standard etiquette to follow when in mourning. They spent the whole evening receiving condolences from relatives, from those who came to this impromptu meeting and from the ones that sent messages as if they saw them in more than just pictures. Messages that Elsa, at the moment, didn't plan to answer. She didn't know how, had the energy to think about it, nor wanted to stand the inevitable plastic conversation that would follow.

Perhaps taking breaks was okay, and that's why they let them be, sitting by their own table as if they were still kids.

Could they, _should they_ , though? Uncertainty stained Elsa's nails a light purple as her fingertips froze. They had lost their parents, they were supposed to be this pair of fragile, hurt puppies now. Supposed to. As it was easier to treat them as kids and keep an eye on them.

"I do, I do." Elsa turned to her sister, forced a small smile. "I always thought the smiley face you did in one of the corners was cute."

"My first masterpiece," joked Anna with a fake accent, before taking a sip of her soda with her pinky up and an exaggeratedly straight back. And if it hadn't been such a weak gesture, so _not-Anna_ in its delivery, maybe Elsa wouldn't have noticed how much she was hurting. Given that she was the type of person whose energy made them move with the entire body.

They weren't ok. Nobody here was. You could see it in the postures, the voice tones, the heavy sighs, the extended silences. As if the air had turned heavy and blue, yet the implicit rule stated they should act as if they weren't drowning.

That included Elsa, regardless of what she actually wanted. Her immediate world was falling apart with each intrusive memory. Still, she put effort into doing her part. Just as she was taught, just as expected. No one had to see her like this, much less Anna. What kind of sister would she be, if she had a breakdown the only moment they could take a break? She couldn't afford such a luxury.

Anna was doing the same thing, though, as pretending was a family tradition, one of the many things that got swept under the rug. Hence why Elsa appreciated Anna's innate transparency.

Like now, that there was a natural pause in the conversation that Elsa used to fill her stomach with water, and she saw Anna's doubts starting to itch in her fingers.

"I guess a lot of them already fell, right? Or that you took them off, or they made you take them off. I would get it. I mean, it's kinda childish and you ever, I don't know, invite a boy over the least you want him to think is that you are childish —not that you are! Just that, uh-"

"Anna." It was rude to interrupt, but Elsa felt she had no other choice. "I never took them off."

"...Really?"

Elsa nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she had missed the hope in her sister's voice. She never dared to do such a thing, because it had been their room back then, and sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, seeing those stars was like seeing good memories. The ones where Elsa's shoulders were still made of cotton and the family was whole, happy.

Though many times, it led to certain things and it's reasons why.

Things that, supposedly, wouldn't be a concern anymore.

But she wasn't about to say a thing, as acknowledging it would lead to an entirely different conversation. And this was a lie. Or, well, _a distraction_ might be a better term. Or a different path, too. The one that is prettier but takes twice as long to reach the destination.

"Some don't glow as much as before, but that's it. Also, why there's always have to be a boy in the middle? No boys. Ever."

"It was a figure of speech! Twenty-twenty and all that. So, you know, it doesn't necessarily _have_ to be boy…"

_"Anna."_

"Ok, ok! I won't say anything else, I promise."

It was something they did without thinking. A mutual effort. Maybe by the force of habit of acting as if time hasn't gone by, of believing that blood was stronger than what had been lost along the way. That there was nothing to talk about. That they didn't meet after so long at a morgue.

That they weren't living a tragedy and they had similar lives. That neither the guilt nor the questions existed.

It was never the right time, never had enough time to stop pretending. So they had to settle for things like this. Distractions.

A moment of silence passed, in which Anna decided to use Elsa's shoulder as a pillow, and she wasn't sure if this was the moment were the inevitable truth would start to sink in, or where they ended up chatting about nothing and viral puppy videos on the internet.

"...Can I still tell you about my summer crush, though?" At least her sister agreed that the former could wait.

"Of course you can." Elsa nodded with a small smile, because hearing the enthusiasm in these anecdotes made it all the more comforting. As long as they didn't include her in future plans or expectations.

And while all this charade would likely change now, it had already become a habit. Pretending was what sometimes made life easier, after all. And one had to believe the lies for them to become truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laughed and cringed at the same time while writing the later half of this conversation, lol. Elsa + heterosexuality? pfft, Nein, nein, nein! But eh, teens are teens.
> 
> If there are any grammar/general mistakes, let me now! No editor this time so, I'm on my own now oop! :(


	3. The Humid Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things start to get, uh, heavier, so to speak.
> 
> If you see any mistakes, let me know! (Not a native speaker, so I do as best as I can, heh). Or, like, a thought, a review, a critic, an analysis, anything really, I kinda feel like a ghost sometimes xd.

The "cold", as Elsa knew it, had its distinctions. The change wasn't as radical as the two types of warm, but rather a series of levels. Steps that sometimes went up to five, others three, and others remained in the standard base of cold hands with lilac nails. With the ever-present, subtle tingling ready to climb at the slightest doubt.

Though, sometimes, those circumstances changed without warning. The cold was unpredictable and tricky. And just as you can build a snowman with all the joy of the world, one second of carelessness can make you fall on top of it. That's why Elsa preferred the cold that came from ice, the dry one. The one she welcomed the most, that froze the entire body until it reached the bones. The one that numbed and nullified to the point that _you weren't there_. That often put Elsa in automatic mode to function as a normal human being. The protective cold. The cold that _helped._

The other, the one with the vicious traps, was _despicable_. It appeared as cold sweat, mostly settling at the back of the neck and along the back. The dry cold distanced Elsa from reality. This one engulfed her to the fullest. It appeared with jumbled memories, it enjoyed drowning her in the truths she tried to forget. It lunged into peaceful dreams so it would feel all the more personal. It was invasive and repulsive in its actions, just like its origin.

Hence the reason she was under boiling water on a Sunday morning, as she had been doing all week.

Only that there were tears this time. That came as soon as she finished throwing up in the toilet, like a wave of pain whose origin she still couldn't figure out. If it was the mourning, the guilt, the disturbing dreams, or the simple fact that Anna's room had stars. The most insignificant detail they chatted about last night. It meant a thousand different things, including the blessing of knowing she held them the same importance as Elsa, and the frightening return to last Monday.

Had this become the new normality? Crying in secret once a day until she found out the reason for all these jumbling feelings? How could she ever feel normal, like this?

_Don't feel._

_Don't. Feel._

Not the feelings, but the real world. Perceptions. With the continuous grip of her fingers over her crossed arms.

_It's not real. It doesn't exist anymore. Conceal it._

Elsa didn't stop until the distance between the skin, her grip and the heat of the water shrank enough to feel it, only a bit. She decided that maybe it was time to ignore motives and actions and continue as if she hadn't been trying to get _something_ back these past five minutes. So, she grabbed the soap and a sponge, ready to sweep away any trace of... _of that._ Whatever _that_ was.

Or perhaps she did know and it showed when she got to that greenish stain in the middle of her left leg. Anna asked about it, naturally, and Elsa played it down with a shrug and a claim that she had no idea where it came from.

There was no way to remove it from the skin. Logically, it was impossible. However, when these bruises started turning green, Elsa couldn't help but think she was decomposing. Another part of her that died. Or rotted. Or got lost.

One less part of her.

Like those tiny scars by her hip bone, which she sometimes regretted, and sometimes where kind of a little pride of hers. The revenge made a display of rebellion that no one but her cared about. It was perfect that way. A decision one hundred percent her own. That now, was worth mentioning, she would oversee. These kinds of things would be left in the past, right? Like everything else.

There was no point in keep paying attention to it.

_There are worse things._

Elsa took a deep breath one last time before shutting off the water and searching for her towel.

_Don't feel._

There were other priorities to attend to.

Like deciding whether she should dress in layers or not. She didn't do it yesterday, the thought lost between attending calls and looking for the documents for this whole mess of procedures. The logical answer was a definite _no_ , but the remaining cold was right that it'd be the only way she would feel safe. Besides, the weather allowed it. So, once in the comfort of her habits, Elsa proceeded to undo the bun she had put up her hair to not getting it wet and brush out the knots, deciding to let it loose.

After making sure it looked like she was never there in the first place, Elsa unlocked the bathroom door and opened it slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible, as everyone seemed to be sleeping still. She did the same thing when she entered Anna's room to leave her bag, making sure to close it behind her when she left. It was a fact open doors couldn't be trusted. Just because she hadn't noticed last night didn't mean it was okay.

Not knowing what else to do, where to go, Elsa ended up sitting at the kitchen bar. Playing with her cold and still-kind-of-numb hands. Trying for silence not to be a reason to think why she was here in the first place, or why she still had the sensation of the bile at the back of her throat. Or the fact that she was so out of tune with everyone in this household she couldn't even follow the same sleep patterns.

And what would she say, then, when she gets asked what's she's doing up so early? No teenager stood in jeans and a t-shirt on a Sunday at seven in the morning for no reason. Thought, given what happened yesterday, admitting she had a bad dream would be justified. Or they'll come up with their own conclusions, and she just had to conceal it enough not to give away to further speculations.

Maybe if she started making coffee, no one would be suspicious. But, wouldn't that be too overconfident? It was enough with taking a shower without asking, ignoring the little voice that told her she should have waited, no matter how dirty and disgusted she felt. Even if she knew there wouldn't be a problem at all. Still. Manners.

Luckily, within a couple of minutes, Gerda appeared looking perhaps as mentally exhausted as Elsa. And between one thing and another, they ended up in a casual chat about coffee, its brands, and how to accompany it. The typical conversations to fill possible uncomfortable silences while waiting for something. That maybe shouldn't happen when it comes to family, but Elsa supposed it was normal, after so long without seeing anyone.

Until the coffee was made, mugs were filled, and the thing left was the silence with its inevitable questions.

"You couldn't sleep?" Gerda's sympathetic smile and her tone made Elsa think she probably was talking from experience, so she just shook her head.

"Barely." A part of her —the tiniest, irrational one— wanted to indulge in the selfish act of _telling,_ every time someone asked. It was a sting, or a hum, or a small needle applying pressure until she gave in. But when did that cause anything besides pain? Her family was grieving, the least she could do was have some respect. "It's just- It's hard."

It was the only thing she allowed herself to say, indulging in the ambiguity before drowning more absurd ideas with coffee. They were old things, things that she knew enough, things that already happened, and that, from now on, had to be left behind.

"It won't be easy, I'm not gonna lie to you." It was almost instinctive, how Elsa snuggled against her aunt's chest as she gently hugged her by the shoulders. With that soft, restorative heat and small caresses in her hair. It was so familiar that, for a second, she thought that if she closed her eyes, she would hear her mother humming a lullaby. So she forced herself to keep them open, staring at nothing. For the fear that the tightness in her chest would shift to her corneas again. "But you have a whole family here with you, ok? You don't have to go through it alone."

Elsa nodded slowly, still not moving. She didn't want to, no matter how much it hurt. Because she was alone in this. Always had been. It was just a matter of learning how to cope, as she had to do with so many other things.

Even so, she wished she could hug her mom one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing the look on mini Elsa's face when her mom sings that lullaby it's so heartwarming and heartbreaking at the same time. And, God, I guess missing these kind of things is inevitable, isn't it?
> 
> Anyway, Iif you already wanna throw bricks at me, Snowmanmelting is my Tumblr bB^)


	4. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! Yass! Translating is a pain in the ass, but a necessary one (?).  
> I'd suggest reading this while listening to Daughter's Departure, or Flaws, or Glass, or any song of "Music from Before the Storm" album.  
> A huge thanks to SheAlwaysDies, for helping me with this chapter and showering me in compliments. This wouldn't be out as fast if it wasn't for your enthusiasm even with my weirdness if sending you a pic of the funeral room at like 2 am. And to my dear friend Scampy, The Queen of Angst(TM) for helping setting the tone for this chapter and supporting me even if I taint her favorite franchise with my angst, lol.

It was both a haunting and overwhelming feeling, to enter the house again and be welcomed with silence. 

In the past five days, every time Elsa climbed the three cobblestone steps and went through the double entry doors, she never knew whether to feel relieved or disturbed that the pictures on the wall weren't broken to pieces on the floor. And if it weren't because she was usually accompanied by a relative, her parents' mugs would continue to gather mold in the dishwasher. Colors waiting for owners that would never arrive.

It was silent and _peaceful_. Unchanging quietness. Sunlight streaming through the window and bathing in heavenly light all the empty spaces, the gaps, the obvious absence. While the birds sang in their little nest by the backyard tree, as it was usual during summer. 

Leaving the keys over the hall coat rack, the one made of oak where they used to make faces with Anna by its mirror, now felt like the action of a stranger invading someone else's space. But very similar to her own, at the same time. This was her home, after all. It still was, right? All her things were here, and her parents' and Anna's. Memories of quiet childhoods in cardboard boxes in the storage room by the garage. The smiley face made of stars in one of the bedroom corners, with her desk, her built-in wardrobe, and the bathroom that was practically hers.

This was Elsa's space. Even if privacy was more of an abstract concept than practical reality. These were her corners, her little spaces, her cushions to hug when she wanted to watch TV, or read a book. 

The only thing of her own that remained.

However, the second she was left alone, the walls would begin to speak. Tranquil, increasing whispers that started with remembering the most mundane things. Afternoons of fun and games, holidays, family outings. Each step to the second floor made them stronger, uncovering the layers to reach reality. The trot became a gallop that set the heart rate pounding in the ears. It got colder, volumes went higher, and a lot of _why's_ soaked the skin with bad memories. Memories that reminded her of the reasons why she did many things. For which she took many risks.

The times she woke up with bruises at six in the morning to turn off the alarm and get a few more minutes of sleep. Or the times where not even the red marks from the boiling water could rip the cold off her skin. Or those in which her eyes wandered to the stars and mentally repeated the reasons why she shouldn't force herself to stop breathing. The consequences that it would have. The times the humid cold took her breath away and there seemed to be no way back.

Elsa hated this place.

Right? 

No, no. She didn't hate it. She hated the part of her that appreciated it. 

Elsa liked the space in itself, the house. Its decoration was a mixture of modern with furniture of waved edges, dark colors, and gold handles. It accompanied the space instead of overloading them, accentuated those corners that Elsa knew well. That allowed her the luxury of disappearing a few hours before reality appeared from behind without warning and concealed footsteps.

At the same time, her aunt and uncle's house meant sharing a room with her little sister. To live with her again. Share the same spaces. Share time. Without fears or any alerts. To the point that sitting down to watch the first low-budget movie they saw on Netflix required no questions. It was simple, mutual understanding.

Until she noticed how Anna sometimes seemed too afraid to let her go. As if she was scared Elsa would disappear too.

That's when all those _why's_ became apparent. When guilt found another excuse to gnaw at her from the inside, once night fell and Elsa found herself in the company of silence, trying to remember what she did in the day.

Or trying to figure out how she felt about what happened on Saturday. Or Wednesday. Or _Sunday_ , for that matter.

However, today was not one of those days of inevitable disaster. Today was Thursday.

Today was the day where the entire funeral process took place.

Elsa learned a lot of things, these past five days. Many that she wished she never had to know about. 

Turns out that wakes can be held during the day, instead of following the tradition of a whole night vigil and a burial the following morning. Funeral homes adapt to any type of situation. So when that turns to be too expensive, the solution appears as short wakes of five or six hours.

Neither is it necessary to dress in black. Another lie by films of Anglo-Saxon customs that only created false expectations. What was expected were sober outfits, leaning towards formality, as a way of showing respect. Still, Elsa found herself in black pants and a matching gray blouse. Clothes that perhaps now would be stained with too many memories to be worn a second time. 

It was all part of a spontaneously coordinated plan, as they knew the dates since Tuesday, and then it was a matter of Elsa being the carrier pigeon between both sides of the family to reach an agreement. Everything was planned down to the last detail. The wreaths, the ornaments, the materials, the place, the schedules. And sometimes, when her mind let her take a break and she fell between the empty spaces left by the cold, Elsa couldn't help but think that all of this felt forced.

Who decided when to cry or when it was the right time to say goodbye? Who said what was real and what contempt if a certain amount of money was not spent? The death business? The hospital protocols? The relatives' whispers behind their back?

Despite the gaps and the contradictions, Elsa didn't dare say a word about it. There were customs to follow, general rules, and in any case, her opinion wouldn't be worth much. 

Elsa wasn't even sure she said a word during all that time between the first porcelain stone step of the funeral home and the last marble step of the cemetery. No, no. It couldn't be. Yes, she _did_ accept condolences, as expected. Her parents wouldn't have liked her to be impolite at a time like this. They would have let her know with a disapproving look, or a slight gesture, or a pinch on the arm if necessary.

Elsa always acted the way it was expected. Empty doll and paper mache stage. 

And despite the number of people she was surrounded by, she felt alone amidst blurred faces. That played with time and kindness, with her struggles to process voices. As if this was easy. As if Elsa could come and go from the regrets just like them and everything would be solved once the caskets were closed and meters underground.

But it was Elsa who was left standing, at the edge, looking at everything that was and everything that was not. Alone.

Alone, with the condolences etched in the unconscious. The tones, the words, _the intentions_. Not the common ones that went over her head. The ones that didn't make an effort to hide their grief, that came with physical contact that burned like the little scars Elsa hid under layers of clothing. All of them had a common factor: a comment, an anecdote, that _something else_ completely unnecessary. As if reminders were needed. As if there were doubts.

As if it were implicit, hidden under the phrases, that _"you see that you were exaggerating, Elsa? Wasn't everything you already did enough that you had to go and kill them too? Was it necessary?"_

Was it, really? Yes, it was. Somehow. 

Because of unconscious desires or ideas. Or the things she needed to get rid of. Or the slightest spark of joy at the idea that was still there to this day. Shining with guilty luster every time Elsa realized this wasn't an eternal vacation at her aunt and uncles' house.

She sought to be there for her younger sister, as she knew Anna needed consolation for parents she hardly saw in recent years. Elsa was with her to take the first step into the rooms, watching her left hand get squeezed by Anna's right. Winter paleness of pinks, lilacs, and blues, wrapped in summer with orange freckles and golden tans. Elsa didn't feel the pain, nor the cold, nor the trembling of her hands.

She looked around for her, from time to time. Making sure Anna was surrounded by the people who protected her from all the truths. With whom Elsa would be grateful for life, for taking care of her sister when she could barely take care of herself. Anna was fine with competent people nearby, and with Elsa doing her part from a distance.

But that would no longer be necessary. It was the reason they were here today. Why she was here today.

Both sides of her family agreed that while in the same place, the wakes would be held separately. The idea of their parents as one single entity, finally split in two. It felt somewhat strange, but it was better than going through this whole process twice.

Even though Elsa would have liked this to stay on the logical-yet-impossible list of wishes.

Her mom’s room is where she entered holding Anna’s hand, where reality started to fall on her. Where the lines lost meaning, the heat became a foreing concept only for the cold fluttering on the skin. There was no need to repeat any mantra or to ask herself to stay composed. Maybe a tear or two fell through her cheeks, for all those things she never said to her, for all the hugs that she didn't reciprocate as much as she would have liked. Elsa wasn't sure. She wasn't there. She wasn't sure that she was there, or that she wanted to be.

Perhaps it would have been better not to be.

The room where her father was, the one where the light was white despite the stained glass windows, she waited until it was empty, amidst a crowd of people of blurred shapes and lines.

She came to within a safe distance, but not too close. Feeling the cold of white tiles and golden columns fall on her to burn her bones from the inside out, frosting her skin. Freezing the air and breaking the crystal of her lungs with each contraction, causing its edges to turn against themselves.

He was there, under the golden hue of Christ's Crucifix. Pale. Dead.

_Cold._

Elsa didn't dare take another step. For the fear that it was nothing more than simple deception, an illusion. A dream that would end the second she stepped forward, made an idea of movement. 

She thought that there would be no more sporadict history lessons, or anecdotes of her grandfather and their relatives from Northern Germany. Or those days of series and movies and spoiling her with homemade junk food.

Or the number of times he said he was sorry that turned out to be a lie. 

Or those in which he spoke of affection and care that didn't really exist.

And the bile turned her tongue into sand, when she remembered all those times that ended with Elsa turning into ice and breaking into pieces.

Would he know now, what it was like to feel like that? The pain of snow when it detaches from the bones, when it melts under the scorching heat and only the threads of steam remain as proof of its existence? Had he ever come to understand it?

For a moment, an instant, it occurred to Elsa to stop digging her nails around her elbows. Rest a hand with purple nails over his, placed one on top of the other at the stomach. Border white knuckles with dead colored digits. Prove if it would really feel like touching the arctic.

But Elsa discarded the idea as soon as it appeared. She wasn't going to take responsibility for the cold that managed to freeze his heartbeat, no matter how many times she wished otherwise.

Elsa didn’t want it to look like an act of affection, either. She already acted too many, forgiven too many.

How could _this_ be a closure?

How could it not be, at the same time? If everything that had to be done was already done.

_“People make mistakes._

_Living in resentment ruins your life."_

She saw them. Both of them. Her parents. Saw their caskets close under faces full of lament. The never ending caravan that accompanied them to the cemetery. The world that kept spinning in the background with it's midday traffic. She saw the priest in the chapel give his blessings. The caskets go down until the only thing left were temporary wooden crosses and removed soil. 

Elsa saw all the things that could never be again. The obtained freedoms and the weights lifted off her shoulders. The nice childhoods that would remain in the memory and the unbroken photographs in an empty house. 

She saw the hope of stop pretending and _being able to be_. 

Perhaps that was the other reason they were here for, too. Right? To be, at last.

It was the easiest way out. The one that brought no consequences and left room for all its perks. 

And now, under the guardianship of the stars her sister put up on her own, under the strong glow that fascinated them the first time they turned the lights off when they were little, full of innocence. Now, she couldn't help but think that perhaps it had also been the best option. The best way out.

Elsa thought about the first stars, the ones in the bedroom of a ghost house. In that smiley face on a corner that lost its meaning. In how old and weary the plastic looked like from all the horrors they witnessed. And she liked the idea of them falling off the ceiling and covering the floor, having served its purpose of offering comfort in tough times.

Maybe these stars would shine under all good memories, good times. Carefully padded shoulders. 

"Annie?" whispered Elsa, hearing the hoarseness in her own voice. It was obvious she had been crying until recently. On her own and in silence, as she knew how. Anna dragged her to her bed when she noticed, like she did when they were children.

"Hm?"

It's not that Elsa didn't want to, she just didn't want to be a bother. But Anna was more bothered by the fact of her sister crying alone than in a shared space. She was like that, involved in the needs of others with all the affection it implied. She was always there.

Elsa looked for her sister's hand under the covers, the one that wasn't hugging an old teddy bear. She held it and gave it a little squeeze, hoping it would say everything her vocal cords couldn't make the effort to pronounce.

"I missed you. Lots."

She was going to miss them. Her chest ached just thinking about it. 

But she missed peace more. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the spark in the eyes of her little sister, the one Elsa did everything to protect, the one with cotton shoulders. The one who was happy for both of them.

She felt a hand squeeze hers. Strong, warm, comforting.

"I missed you too, Els."

Perhaps this was the end of all the bad things, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't say anything except that whatever your theories are, they might be right. Or not. Who knows. Not me. I can't confirm or deny anything. But I can confirm that comments are an author's serotonin :).
> 
> Wanna read discarded drafts? The location of this story? Clothes headcanons? Anna with short hair? Check out the hashtags "Whats left unsaid" and "yes yes this is wlu" on my Tumblr, @Snowmanmelting *finger guns*


	5. Saudade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, good... Nights and happy new very long lists of holidays that passed since the last updated. I has revived.  
> Ok, I actually never died. I have been working in this chapter since September of last year. I must have changed the first part between 10-15 times, and the second around 15-20, ugh. Plus life overall didn't help, haha.  
> Super huge shutout to my online pals that helped me with this, especially to [Cactuscrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactuscrow/works) for cheering me on at all times and having so much faith in me ;;. Go check her stuff, she's an amazing writer (L)  
> Anyway, for those who were wondering about Anita, here you go, 4k words to compensate my absence :^).

Nostalgia, Elsa realized, can come in a little pinch of longing for past, happier times, or as a wave that hits against the chest, floods it until there's no more air left, and it's a conscious effort not to cry.

Most of the time, the latter happened to her.

She supposed it was part of the grieving process. That there existed a logical connection between arriving now at her great-aunt's house and remembering all those times they came here as children, to then visit the park with the pond and its family of ducks, or the natural sciences museum behind it. Or that Anna always insisted on getting the oatmeal cookies from the bakery next door, which if it weren't for the gray-veined tile walls and the outdoor sign, it wouldn't look like one. Or the vacant lot across the street, with tall trees growing in it. Or that her great-aunt always warned them not to touch the plants arranged along the hallway and front patio, when it was too hot to go to play on the terrace.

Her father once told Elsa that there were times she seemed to live in the past, that she always focused on things that couldn't be changed. And though at the time it was nothing more than a typical deflection attempt, sometimes she found herself going back to that phrase.

Sometimes Elsa felt the past was the only thing she had left. That she wasn't _whole_ , in a way. That fragments of her life were stolen, piece by piece. Years, entire periods of time of which she couldn't remember simple things for the fear of falling into those voids. Dark voids full of nothing and ice that burned her lungs, like in her worst nightmares.

Maybe Elsa did. Not in the way he wanted her to believe, but she did. Probably. Definitely.

But if she didn't give him the reason while he was alive, she would do it even less after his death.

It was still hard to believe that three days had passed since Thursday. Every time the idea came back to her, she felt like it happened both an eternity and a blink ago, simultaneously. Having no idea which of those points in time she was the closest to.

It didn't help that everything seemed to stay the same, either. Except for maybe waking up on Friday with a numb arm, after ten hours and a half of sleep when she usually slept six. Or four, if her world went overboard. Other than that, they kept watching movies and dragging themselves to the supermarket to buy groceries and half a kilo of chocolate ice cream with cookies, out of pure gluttony.

Thus, how the third Sunday of February was reached. The first, even if expected, was an ordeal. The second, the events of the first dawned on her while the news settled in. Today was the typical family reunion Sunday. Today was a Sunday to bathe in nostalgia.

Though the atmosphere didn't feel as she used to remember, nor like last Saturday. Perhaps because at the time the news was too new? Perhaps because what she remembered from earlier times was from her childhood, where no one pays attention to that kind of stuff. It was about the apparent tranquility, that ten minutes later unfolded into _forced_ tranquility, where no one can do anything but follow the course of things and pretend everything is ok.

Perhaps it was the fact that they suddenly became the darling girls of the family, with greetings and hugs that lasted longer than normal, and compliments on appearances that neither of them asked for. As if the show was necessary to make them feel better. Like the set of crystal glasses that must be treated with care because it's an inherited relic, and every time you use them there's an anecdote to tell. A gossip. A secret. It didn't even have to be true.

Elsa would rather be ignored than feigning physical contact didn't bother her, even if it was warm and didn't burn. Her sister, overwhelmed since the first minute, began to slowly pull her towards the living room where only their little cousins were. A common attitude from most of the times they saw each other under these circumstances, so they spent the rest of the hour playing board games and getting their arms tattooed with color markers.

Until lunch time came. More turns to the past, being put under the spotlight again.

Elsa swayed her fork among the ravioli with sauce that, as homemade as it was, the heat took away her hunger with its twenty eight degrees of thermal sensation. Even if it was one of her favorite dishes as a child. The topics of conversation didn't help either. If it didn't have to do with her mom or her parents in general, it somehow ended up involving them. In addition to the typical questions relatives ask about everyday life, those that turn a conversation into an interview. Those about school, vacations, possible careers choices, _boyfriends_ (and that's when Elsa had to drown her nausea with Sprite), and all those things that are answered with expectations instead of the truth.

What called Elsa's attention was that the focus was placed on her sister. Because, though Elsa hadn't seen most of her family for at least a year, everyone knew she spent the holidays with her mom and her uncle in Ushuaia, but not that Anna was in Mar del Plata from New Year until mid January. Anna didn't know that they didn't know, either, and the awkward silence lasted for about two seconds, as the topic was switched like nothing.

If such obviousness was noticed by someone other than the two of them, no one bothered to show it.

Anna remained silent the rest of lunch, lost in thought unless someone called her attention. Not that her enthusiasm was great before, but there was an effort to keep up with the attitudes. Now she seemed to make an effort to pay attention, watching from the outside and even with slight nervousness.

Could it be reality settling down for the umpteenth time, playing with the illusions and the confusion of having to constantly use verbs in the past tense? No, that was a slow, unconscious process. Or did it really bother her that a distant relative didn't know about her vacations? Sometimes they made distinctions, or comparisons, which neither of them found funny. But relatives were like that, it was useless to expect anything else.

Something wasn't right, aside from the obvious. _Something else._ Something that caused Elsa a similar reaction as _that_ something else from before Anna moved out, four years ago. _That_ something else she was terrified of, and made the cold play with her nerve endings while it expanded all over her spine, just in case.

The sensation was so familiar, that for a moment the thought nothing had changed, and at any moment one of her parents would come to pick her up so they could go back to their previous lives.

_No, no, no. Forget it, forget about that._

Now with the fear haunting her skin, Elsa couldn't do anything else than watch. To try to find something that would prove she was just exaggerating. If there was something Elsa took pride in, was her ability of perception. Observe the gestures, pay attention to the tones. What wasn't said with words was said with actions, body language. _Details._

Dessert arrived. The classic supermarket ice cream and her great-aunt's homemade flan that everyone joked would cheer anyone up, which Anna adored (and was her mom's favorite, but Elsa rather not focus on that). The answer remained absent-minded, low, feigned.

Anna didn't feign, she was awful at it.

It was when her sister locked herself in the kitchen to do the dishes, despite the protests of her aunts and the indignation of her grandmother, that Elsa convinced herself she had to try talking to her. No matter how scared she was of the answers. Like when they were younger and told each other everything. Or almost everything. Maybe it wasn't a big deal. Sometimes Elsa's ideas escaped her mind and speculated alone at two hundred kilometers per hour, and things got worse in a reality illustrated only in her head. She wouldn't know until she took the first step.

So, inhaling slowly, she took advantage of when everyone got distracted with the photo albums to leave the table and escape from collective nostalgia. And trying not to count the tiles so as not to fall for nerve-racking technicalities, she walked the length of the hall to the kitchen. The first room on the left, before the entrance.

The door was closed, so she decided to knock before opening because Elsa was in favor of respecting privacy.

"Need a hand?" she asked, with an almost pretended casualty.

Anna turned around, startled, her mind clearly somewhere else.

"Oh, uh, if you could start drying the stuff that's done, you'll be a lifesaver. Check over the oven, there should be a dishcloth somewhere," she told her, turning around to point at said object with the sponge, throwing foam to the floor in the process. Elsa nodded, closing the door behind her and, stepping firmly in case of more puddles on the black tile floor, she made the three steps to the oven. She recalled that, as a child, this kitchen seemed much larger than it actually was, with minimal space for an L-shaped counter where Anna occupied the longest end. So she was left with the shorter end, with enough space to pile up the dried plates, having to turn a bit to take one thing and put another away.

"You should've told me." Anna looked at her, confused, putting a plate on the slot of the dish rack Elsa just emptied. "Aunt Mari wouldn't have had a problem with giving me extra flan just for you."

 _You should've told me you didn't want to come,_ was the full sentence. Her sister gave her a half smile, but Elsa knew she really appreciated it. Maybe because of the idea of conspiring as if they were back in elementary school. Or that there was still a mutual concern. Though she shook her head like nothing, two seconds later.

"Nah, it's fine. You know it would've been worse if I didn't come than I'd show up with this face," said Anna, rolling her eyes.

"At least we're not eating _hasenpfeffer_." For Elsa, that was enough.

"Ay, don't remind me." She faked a shudder. "I still can't see a rabbit without feeling guilty."

With nothing more to add than a slight nod of the head and a wrinkled nose, they both fell silent, caught up in the momentary routine of cooperating on a simple task. In the background, her cousins fought over what color was the dress of a princess, probably the one who could be heard singing in a shrill voice from the living room, while the echo of conversations and various laughter resounded from the central courtyard of the house.

Was this the moment to break the silence? Should she? Perhaps this was what Anna needed. A moment of peace where no one would pester her with questions or tell her anything. Not that Elsa liked when her sister was quiet, as Anna usually didn't put up well with long silences. And for as long as Elsa could remember, too much silence from her part meant that something _wasn't_ okay but, well, who would be, now? Besides, what could she ask her? That same thing, if she was okay? The stupidest question in the universe to ask right now? Maybe Anna _wanted_ silence. Maybe she had gotten used to it and Elsa took it as a bad sign but she actually didn't know a thing because of the time spent apart. Maybe she didn't want to talk to _Elsa_ precisely, because of everything that happened when—

"Els?"

Maybe not. Maybe she had to stop the speculation and let things take their course.

Elsa breathed through her nose and released it with a simple, absolutely not nervous, _"Hm?"_

"You're moving south with Uncle Adrien, right?" Anna asked directly. As if she were ripping off the bandaid. Needless to say Elsa wasn't expecting it all, and she stopped short of drying forks.

"Where did you get that from?" she replied, with all the confusion in the world.

Technically, Elsa hadn't moved anywhere yet. She just had the bare minimum and a couple extra things she took with her the last time she went to the house, before the funeral. Her aunt and uncle told her she'll stay with them from the beginning, but she didn't know if it was a saying of the moment or a definitive one. Elsa didn't mention anything either, to avoid uncomfortable conversations.

This was far too precise information and the options of who might have told Anna weren't the nice ones but the ones that caused her to have cold and lilac tinted nails.

"Mom told me about your plans of moving there, at least this year." Anna shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. Elsa didn't really know how to feel about it, because her sister had the right to see their mom whenever she wanted and that was fine. They even brought her _alfajores_ and chocolate-dipped hazelnuts. But they could have let her know. _Their mom_ could have let her know. They have spent more time together with Anna this week than in the entirety of the last year.

However, this wasn't the time to be selfish nor reproachful.

"Mom told you about the divorce?" Elsa tried to sound as casual as possible, grabbing another plate and swallowing any feelings that had nothing to do with the subject.

Something that proved to be quite difficult when her sister looked at her in confusion, then understanding as if she had realized something and ended up with an expression between guilt and nervousness. All in one second.

In her head, Elsa was already taking the cross she had on her neck and begging whoever was above the clouds, that it didn't turn to be true what she was already thinking.

"Oh, um… it was dad, actually," Anna murmured.

The clash between porcelains felt like thunder to her ears, as Elsa set the plate on the pile with trembling hands. She didn't know if it was the anger, or the cold invading her bones, while her stomach frozen into knots and bile danced over her tongue. At least she turned around two seconds earlier, or there would be no excuses.

Of course it was him. History repeated itself.

"Oh, really?" was the only thing she managed to say, more aloof than intended.

"Yeah, we went to that ice cream parlor we always used to go to, a couple days after I got back from the coast." _Why?_ was the first thing Elsa wanted to ask, as if she were twelve all over again, no matter how obvious the answer. So she sank her teeth into the tip of the tongue hard enough to cause pain. She wasn't about to screw anything up. This wasn't about her. "But he only told me about the whole thing of, you know, getting separated and all that. And then mom told me about the moving thing but like three weeks later. Seems like they weren't talking much or something."

Taking a deep breath to only keep the slight feeling of discomfort, Elsa shook her head slowly. Since courts opened in February, they get ahead with all the paperwork, discussions on the division of assets, who they'll stay with on school days, and with whom on weekends. At least most of the time they did it on their own and didn't involve Elsa, as she couldn't fake her answers much longer, to tell the truth.

"They weren't really getting along." Since late November, but that was a detail at this point. What was the point of this conversation, again? Old ideas? Between one thing and the other, it was hard to get back to the original question. "Anyway, I'm not gonna move anywhere. I mean, I'll have to get back next year for uni."

"But there _are_ universities in Tierra del Fuego. Or you can take a gap year and work until you decide on what to study." Again, that shrug only gave Elsa mixed signals. Did she care? She didn't? What was the point? Why was she insisting on a place Elsa just said she wasn't going to move to?

"Do… do you want me to go?" It hurt to ask, but maybe she did. Maybe Anna wanted her to leave. Maybe time and distances made them lose all of the things they shouldn't have lost, and Elsa was interpreting everything the way she wanted things to go, and not as how they actually were. And that's why they still stuck in this nebula of pretending all of this was temporary, and so they never spoke about room organization nor moving house nor any of the important things, maybe—

Her sister stopped short only to look at her like Elsa had an antenna growing on top of her head.

"No, dummy, I'm not kicking you out! I _want_ you to stay, but I don't want you to stay just for me. I mean, five minutes ago you were saying how much you love it there, and that you missed it and I really thought you would like to move because you're basically a penguin. Like, you were born there, you love the cold and with that black and white jacket you used to wear you just need to compress down to one meter," she said, with quick gestures. "What I mean, is that I'm used to seeing everyone once in a blue moon. It'll be fine," Anna finished, busying herself with a couple of dishes left to do and avoiding her sight altogether.

Elsa didn't know what to say, leaning against the counter and trying not to twist the dishcloth too much. Her sister was telling her that if she decided to move over three thousand kilometers away, she'd accept it as long as it made her happy. Could this girl be more selfless? It's not like Elsa deserves such consideration. Not after everything that happened.

But Anna _did_ deserve an answer from her, a sincere one.

"I'm not moving anywhere, Annie. I wasn't lying when I said that I missed you. We… we haven't spent this much time together in ages." Elsa found a loose thread at the edge of the seam, deciding to focus on it and wrap it around her index finger before yanking it off. "I'd love to move to Ushuaia the whole summer, because you know I can't stand the heat, but that's it."

When Elsa raised her head, Anna looked relieved, the corners of her lips turned slightly upward.

"Oh, ok. That's… that's great. _Cool_." Elsa didn't miss the way that, once the dishes were done, she took a damp cloth to clean the counter with quick, nervous movements. As if she was using cleaning to vent. "For a moment I thought that maybe I was only bothering you and you just wanted to be your responsible self as always or something."

The tone of pretended casualty said it all. Elsa was quick to shake her head and finish with the last three pieces of silverware.

"You aren't a bother to anyone, Anna. Why would you say that?" It was almost offensive, the implication of that phrase. She was her little sister and therefore Elsa had the responsibility of taking care of her, but not in the way she intended.

Anna looked at her as if the answer was there and Elsa was skipping it simply because she felt like it.

"Uh, because mom and dad clearly didn't agree with that statement?" Anna turned around to put away part of the dishes in the cabinet on the adjoining wall, those classic wooden ones that could be found in any kitchen. Even though in one as tiny as this one it only accentuated the feeling of claustrophobia.

That didn't mean she missed the bitterness in his voice.

"Do you have to start with that _now?_ " Words came out faster than she could actually think them. A bit harsher and more reproachful than she would have wanted, too.

"I'm not starting anything, Elsa. I'm just saying the truth." More plates, more clatter of glass on glass. Made on purpose, this time.

"You just said you saw them less than a month ago." She didn't need this. Not now. There would be time for these conversations, as much as Elsa wanted to avoid them at all costs. Now she needed to focus on the good things in both of them, or the furniture would start to fall on top of her.

"Yes, two times in the _last three months_ , Elsa." It was in the increasingly angry tone, or that extra sparkle in her eyes, that made her realize perhaps Anna was right that she wasn't _starting_ anything. It had already started at lunch, with the focus on knowing about her life, because they didn't have a clue. Or even earlier, to that thing of pompous compliments and empty cheek squeezes. Or they could go further back to months in the past. Or travel years in time and find all the motives.

However, one thing didn't take the other away.

"That doesn't mean they didn't love you, Anna." They always loved her. Even though after she left, silences became awkward, tense, and obvious in their causes. That she was barely mentioned and it became this game of pretending Elsa was an only child and Anna actually a cousin who happened to live with them. It was just a horrible way to cope. Hence the reason why her pictures still hung in the frames, or some of her things were still stored at the bottom of Elsa's closet. Or all those times Elsa found her mom staring at nothing, and when Elsa asked her if she was okay, there was a change of subject and a hug.

They did love her, no matter the contradictions. As much as it sounded like empty words of comfort and there was no space to explain the reasons Anna was looking for.

"Quite a twisted way of loving someone." The force with which she closed the cabinet doors startled Elsa. "But if the favorite daughter says it then I guess it must be true, no?"

The slam of the door was even worse. But the dagger her sister stabbed and twisted in her chest just because she was angry at the situation hurt even more. Flooding her chest the same way nostalgia did, but instead of longing for past times, it brought up her guilt for all the things that went wrong.

Elsa wiped away unshed tears with frozen digits. Trembling hands opened the first drawer of the shorter end of the counter, starting to put away the cutlery one by one. It was about focusing on the routinary action, on simple tasks that required mechanical movements, and not on the fact that the room turned cold in the middle of a summer day.

Somehow, her sight ended up on the window, the row of plants in hand-painted pots sitting on the edge. They were all of vibrant colors with patterns of clouds, sunflowers, and daisies. Elsa remembered they painted the majority of them, back at the times of constant stress, as her mom found they enjoyed painting crafts. And two weeks later, it was Elsa, her mother, and a poor but convincing excuse who gave them to her great-aunt for her birthday.

At some point, her sister was right. And as always, it was Elsa who had to take responsibility for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...haha, if you want to throw me something: I advice to wait till chapter 7-8. You can do it at my Tumblr tho, [Snowmanmelting](http://www.snowmanmelting.tumblr.com)
> 
> In the meantime, remember that reviews are an author's serotonin!


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